An Exercise in Grief
by Tramontana
Summary: The world was suddenly different for them now. It was a world without Dumbledore, where no place and no person was truly safe...


I do not own anything HP related, etc, etc...

The scene of Dumbledore's death, particularly in the film, struck a strong chord for me, and this introspection begged to be written as a result. I found myself writing from McGonnagall's point of view, which I've not done before, perhaps because she was the first to salute her wand.

* * *

Minerva McGonnagall could only stare at the horrific scene before her. Surely this was a nightmare, soon to be dispelled as she returned to the waking world. Surely this wasn't real.

When Dumbledore had confided in her the truth of his condition following the curse of Riddle's ring some months ago, she knew there would soon come a time where she would have to deal with his mortality. Even then it had been a surreal notion, like a joke told in poor taste at the worst possible moments, for Albus' death meant more than the loss of a dear friend. He was a symbol against the darkness, the face of every philosophy and value she held dear, a protector, a drawer of lines against what a more complacent man might have accepted as grim, unchangeable reality. Albus Dumbledore persevered, always.

And now, his lifeless body lay in the grass before the school he had long called home, shadowed now by the Dark Mark hovering malignantly above them. Harry clutched at him, consumed with grief, until Ginny Weasley silently departed from the stunned crowd to comfort him. Heart frozen, tears in her eyes, Minerva could only stare.

At her back and all around her, the students and teachers of Hogwarts did the same, their own faces stricken with despair and fear. The world was suddenly different for them now. It was a world without Dumbledore, where no place and no person was truly safe. The tears finally began to fall, and Minerva made no move to wipe them away. Children should be thinking about classes and crushes and playing outdoors and what they wanted to do when they finished school someday. Instead they faced fear, sadness, and the loss of hope. No child should have to live in such a dark, heavy world.

Heavy like the thick layer of clouds and the oppressive Mark. Dumbledore believed in creating a world where in time, children could forget what the Mark meant, forget that it even existed. A world where the notion of purity of blood or race or creed was an outdated thing to be scoffed at. Albus was gone now, but his his beliefs remained so long as even one person upheld them. The students would be looking to her now, and she could not afford to let them down by letting grief mire her into numbness and inaction. They needed a gesture, if not of hope, then of solidarity.

Slowly, she raised the hand that held her wand until its faintly glowing tip was pointed high at the sky. Several of the faculty and staff, those who were familiar with the gesture from the time of Voldemort's last war against the wizarding world, mirrored her. It was not just a salute to honor a fallen comrade but also a tangible means of rallying together against the darkness. Many students began to follow the example of their professors; first those who were familiar with the gesture through experience or secondhand knowledge, and then those who wordlessly understood the meaning--the _necessity_--of what they were doing. They would take this step, however small, against their adversaries, in honor of Albus Dumbledore.

Soon, when countless wands were raised toward the sky, a glowing aura began to solidify above them. Rays and tendrils of light reached up to banish the hateful symbol that darkened the spires of their beloved school. Even in the wake of so much tyranny and despair, the Mark could not endure the light of so many hearts united. Torn apart, it dissolved into the featureless wall of clouds, lending the briefest victory to those who sorely needed it.

Wands lowered as the aura of light slowly faded. The gesture ended, children and adults alike began to embrace one another, sharing in their loss. Several students clung to Minerva, and she wept with them, clinging back. As her eyes fell on Albus' form once more, however, she was filled with a renewed sense of resolve. Dumbledore's legacy would persist as long as others were willing to uphold it. She silently vowed in that moment to carry on that legacy, to stand against Voldemort even if it meant using rocks in her bare hands. Even if it meant her her life. She would work toward a world where children could laugh and smile and dwell on their dreams, not on the nightmare that was their current reality.

She would strive to create a world where they could trade in fear and despair and grief....for _hope._


End file.
